Light Up the Sky
by jayilyse
Summary: POV switch from ymir to christa on the second and final chapter. 2nd person. Her eyes are closing and yours are too. Should you do this? Is this really what you want to get into? It's too late for that, though./ This is your chance, Christa. She's not paying attention to you, she's off in her own world.
1. Ymir

Christa Lenz makes a choice to live like this.

And every day you, Ymir, make a choice to stay.

You don't understand why. You thought she was stupid for helping out Potato Girl during the first day of training. But you could take advantage of that type of generosity; after all, being generous can be just as bad as being simple-minded in a place like this. It can, and will, get a person killed. Try to help out those dragging the brigade down, go down with them. That's the rules of army life.

Then why stay with her?

There are several reasons, you suppose. She's similar to you in certain ways. Most would take that as a joke – the Goddess of the 104th unit like bossy, conniving Ymir? Impossible. But, like you, she is hiding something. You can feel it in your bones. It's not something unimportant, from what you can tell. It's a secret as important as yours. You're curious about it, however, that's not really one of the reasons. You just know it's the reason behind her death wish. You've known for a very long time that she has one and it's not any old death wish. She wants to die a heroic death. It's probably connected to her secret, in some way. You don't care though. You're not letting her die. There's no way you'll let her die. Why? Why her, of all people? Someone so generous and kind will only get in the way. Why do this when the only person you should care about is yourself?

It's because she's already significant.

At least to you.

Christa always smiles at you; she says kind words to you. She doesn't know you're a monster – your personality is monstrous enough on its own to make anyone stay away. Yet, there's not a day where she's not by your side. Currently, it's one of those rare moments you have by yourself in the barracks. You're just lying here, in civilian clothes, because it's the last exercise of the day you're skipping: the hand to hand combat exercise.

Some days you think that maybe you have a good side, even if it's only around her. You're not quiet. You'll make your opinions known and then walk off. With her, though? You talk. It's as simple as that. You don't force conversation; it just happens naturally. You feel like a person around her and that is something you've never felt before. You don't know how it happened or when it happened. Feeling anything was hard for you before this. You'd been trapped in the nightmare so long you forgot most feelings. Indifference and hatred were your company, and you intended to keep it that way. It's infuriating sometimes. 'Cause you know what it is. You've learned the most human feeling of them all because of her.

Love.

You hate this part of being human. Hate for yourself is what you're used to. But love and hope? Never was your style. This hope that maybe she'll take one of your jokes seriously one day – that maybe she'll take you up on that offer to kiss her wounds from training better – or run away with you and never return. You want to know her more and more. You probably know more about her than anyone else; but that's not enough. As selfish as it is, you want all of her. You never claimed to be righteous like her. Everything is for you and your benefit only. You want her to be yours, and yours alone.

You hear a creaking sound; it must be the door. It's too early for the hand to hand combat exercise to be over. It might be Annie. She usually ditches, after all. You don't even bother to look at the door. You're lying down in your bed so you may as well pretend to sleep. You don't exactly want to deal with awkward silence. You're content to continue your thoughts without interruption. Footsteps come closer and closer. You can tell when they stop by your bed side. That's odd. You don't bother to open your eyes, though. Breathing in and out, slowly, your act is almost perfect. You've done it too many times. It's not until you feel hot air on your cheek and a slight pressure on it, something soft, that you open your eyes and turn your head.

Behold, a surprised and blushing Christa.

Christa opens her mouth once. Twice. she stammers multiple times before she shuts her mouth entirely, redness all over her face. Adorable. Turning onto your back, and leaning on your elbows, you sit up a little bit. You stare at her, a questioning look placed upon your visage. It's a little while more before she says anything.

"I didn't mean to – what I meant to –"

She goes quiet for a while.

"Sorry."

"What for?"

You raise an eyebrow. Of course you know what she's sorry for. She doesn't really have to say it. You just want to know why she did it. Plus, you like hearing her speak. Her voice, though a bit high pitched, is beautiful to you. When she sings or hums to herself it soothes you. You'd do anything to get her to talk more.

"For invading your personal space. I've kind of always, sort of, okay – I've always wanted to do that." Christa says with a barely noticeable stutter this time. Her gaze isn't toward you; it's at the floor. You stay silent. Contemplating your next move. She mutters another sorry and attempts to walk away, turning around. You don't want that. Not at all. You know what you want, but are you sure you deserve it – her? It doesn't matter now, though. You sit up quick, maneuver your body, and grab her wrist, the frame of the bed shaking a little from the quickness of the movement. She gives a little squeak of surprise, her body pivoting toward you.

"Don't."

Her face shows confusion, her eyebrows furrowing together, trying to piece together what you mean.

"Don't what, Ymir?"

"Don't go."

Christa seems stunned at first. She doesn't know what to do – she doesn't know what you want. To be honest, you don't know where this is going to go. Letting her leave isn't an option though. You take your hand off of her small wrist, pulling your hand back to yourself. Almost. It hangs in midair before you grab her hand, interlacing your fingers. You look to your side, feeling the heat under the freckles on your face. The two of you stay like that for a minute or so. This feels good. You can tell she's burning holes into you with her clear, blue eyes. Questioning. What are you doing? Ymir, get your act together. When she breaks the hold you have on her hand, you're disappointed. You knew it. You knew it all along. You aren't good enough for her anyway.

She sits down on your bed while you aren't paying attention, merely staring at the hand you originally had in hers. She takes your other hand in hers. You move your head a little to see her face; you can't tell what her expression is. When you turn your head fully to her, she smiles at you. Her hands are warm and a little calloused. Yours are too, more so in fact, yet it still feels nice. Her thumb rubs your hand absent mindedly. This – this is comfortable. Soon, her head is on your shoulder, your hands laced together on Christa's leg, and before you know it your head's against hers. Your heart is pounding. You use the same shampoo as her when you shower, as all the soldiers do, but it seems to smell nicer on her. You two stay like that; you're enjoying this comfortable silence being shared. Then, Christa breaks it. She takes her head off of you, leaving an empty feeling. She keeps your hands together, though. You're a little dazed out by the way this is going.

"Ymir?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we...?"

Christa's eyes are pleading. Her nervousness is obvious. She's biting her lip in the most attractive way. You wonder what it'd be like. To touch it. To feel it. Before you realize it, you're getting closer and closer, moving yourself in her direction. You repeat the question.

"Can we?"

Her eyes are closing and yours are too. Should you do this? Is this really what you want to get into? It's too late for that, though. You can feel the heat going down to your neck. You're already in too deep. Your lips touch hers just barely. You're afraid to do more than that. However, before you can back out, her lips are gently pressing against yours. Gentle as it is, it's still more pressure than you dared. The tiniest moan comes out of you – you're surprised that you can moan. Christa pushes a little harder in response, then sucks on your bottom lip. How did she get this good at kissing? You don't remember the last time you kissed someone or if you ever did. This feels too good. Way too good. In the pit of your stomach is this mixed feeling of fear – fear that this won't last – and something reminiscent of a pressure. An urge.

You can't resist her anymore, especially when she runs her tongue along your bottom lip. You try to squelch the noise that comes out of your throat when her tongue caresses yours. Muffled as it may have been, it was still there. Christa's hand is out of yours and behind your head, tugging at the band that holds your pony tail up. Her other hand is on your thigh, not moving up – you can tell it's there just to keep her stable. You have one hand on the side of her neck. The other on her cheek, cupping it. Christa manages to get your hair out of its pony tail; she places her hand on the back of your scalp and tugs a little. Not roughly. Where did she learn this? This is ridiculous. You refuse to let her take the lead in all of this. You need to do _something_. You smirk into the kiss when it delves back into closed mouth. This time you're the one to ask for entry. You can feel her shiver. She lets you in without a hassle.

"Mmm," she hums. The vibration feels amazing against your lips.

You don't dart your tongue in. You don't keep it firm. You allow your tongue to relax; you gently lick the tip of her tongue with your own, making her chase after your tongue for a while and occasionally letting her succeed in catching it, before you go to the roof of her mouth. You heard this spot was sensitive once before. Why not try it? You start by writing your name.

'Y'

Christa makes a muffled sound against you. Good sign? You think so.

'M'

She makes another sound. It's muffled by your lips but it almost sounded like...

'I'

And she's pulling away from, her hands returning to her person . Before you know it, she's giggling. What the fuck did you do wrong, exactly? That wasn't supposed to make her laugh; it was supposed to turn her on. Not that you wanted sex. It's just fun to tease her. Once the laughter stops, she looks at you.

"It tickled." Christa offers.

You let out an "Mmhm".

"This is the first time I've seen you pout, you know."

"I am not."

She grins.

"Are too."

You sigh, and lay back on your bed, legs dangling off it. Whatever. It's not like this is something you really should've done with her. You've wanted to, sure. But what will be the consequences? You always think about your actions. You should've thought this through. How will it affect you?

But most of all, how would being with you affect Christa?

Nothing good can come out of it. Not for her. You know what you are. She doesn't. It's people like you that are the reason for the future is bleak in this world – for humans. There's no way humanity is going to survive; you know this. The world's sky is dreary. It only gets darker from here.

Your bed groans as Christa climbs up next to you; you forgot how short she is. She curls up next to you, holding your arm hostage, her feet barely off the bed. You can tell without looking that she's smiling at you. She lays her head on your shoulder once more and you instinctively put your head against hers again. You can't fight your feeling anymore. Nuzzling – she's nuzzling you.

Adorable.

Kissing her on the top of her head, she grabs your hand, clasping it tightly. You don't know what's going to happen. You don't know anything anymore, really. What you're doing here with Christa is a mystery to you; you do know one thing, however. As black as everything becomes, as far as the expanse that is the sky goes, there is a light. It's yours only – you're selfish like that. You will protect that light because you're the only one who can. You suppose there's a little bit of truth to what everyone says. You accidentally snicker out loud. Christa picks up her head, curiosity most likely peaked.

"What was that for?"

"You really want to know?"

She nods, gazing at you with such sincerity that it almost hurts.

"Christa."

"Yes...?"

"You really are a Goddess."


	2. Christa

Historia Reiss – no, Christa Lenz, you have a problem.

And that problem is Ymir.

You have never known why she hangs around you. Ever since the first day she has never left your side for more than a couple hours – or is it you that hasn't left her? It's not like you need her to be there or anything. Her presence, however, is something you enjoy. Others question you quite often about it. "You shouldn't be with a cynical person like her, Christa." or "She's so opinionated. How do you deal with it?" There's nothing to deal with, really. She may tease you a lot, calling you "short stuff", and she jokes a lot about running away with you. She offers to kiss your battle scars after training. It flusters you.

But the truth is that you like it.

She teases you, yes. Yet, she uses all the information you give her about yourself to tease you with. You haven't told her much about yourself past basics and limited information about your past – only silly things. You don't want anyone finding out about your true identity. However, Ymir knows more about you than anyone else here. She knows how badly you want to get married someday. She tells you that you picked the wrong job if that's a dream of yours. She says you're not fit to be a soldier. You also want to help mankind – though that's a perk, you know that's not your true motive anyway. You huffed about it for all of a minute before she started with the "marry me" jokes. You giggled and she chuckled. That was a good day, all in all. She's a sincere person, when it comes down to it. Always talking about being yourself, always giving you glances when she says it. It's ironic, isn't it? To befriend someone who really wants to see the true you when all you can give is half-truths. You feel bad about it, in a sense. But you came here to make an honorable name for yourself.

And that is what you will do, no matter what.

You wonder about other things, though. You wonder what it would be like to take Ymir up on one of her offers – if she would actually do it. You doubt she would. Instead of testing the theory out, your face usually flushes and you stare at the ground. At which point she'll just pat your head and laugh. Her laugh is something you like the best about her. It's when you get to see her smile for real. The way her teeth contrast to her tan skin fascinates you. You want to know how many freckles she really has. Her russet colored eyes bore into you some days, making your heart skip a beat. But today, she managed to escape the keen eye of your instructor to skip out on hand to hand combat training. You have noticed that if you manage to skip out early in the exercise, no one catches you. As expected, Annie is about to take her leave. You don't really know what compels you to leave as well. You just do it.

You walk to the barracks alone, dirt crunching beneath you. When you finally reach them, the door creaks open. It is always an eerie sound. You're used to it though, so you simply step inside. Ymir's bed is on a bottom bunk toward the end of the room. You walk over to it, only to see her sleeping form. She looks really peaceful, sleeping on her side like that. There's some thoughts you've had about her lately that are odd for a girl to have for another. It's not unheard of. You consider it weird because you want to get married. You can't do that with a woman. Still, you want to hold her hand, sometimes. Other days you want to rest your head on her shoulder.

Maybe it would be nice to kiss her on the cheek.

It's not that you haven't had the urge to before. You've considered it and then thrown it away from your mind. She may joke, but who knows if she's really like that. You didn't think you were; look how well that turned out. She's asleep. It couldn't hurt to just give her a peck on her cheek, right? It's something you have wanted to do. Why not fulfill a wish of your own for once, instead of someone else's? It's okay to be selfish once in a while, right? That's what Ymir said. With that in mind, you bend down, placing your lips on her face very softly. Her face is a little rough, but she's a little rough in general. You don't mind –

That is, until she turns her head, eyes open. You lift yourself back up as quick as possible, your eyes widening. Oh no. Oh for the love of – you just had to go and do it Christa. This is what you get for being selfish. Remind yourself to do nicer things for everyone tomorrow. And during the whole week. The situation at hand, however, is not going to wait until tomorrow. You're blushing hard, heat all over your face. What do you even say in this kind of situation? You open your mouth and close it. Open your mouth, close it. You try defending yourself, but it comes out so garbled that it doesn't count. Ymir is getting up, leaning on her elbows. Her face has confusion written all over it. You can't talk just yet, though. You take the time to compose yourself a bit; then you try saying what you want to say.

"I didn't mean to – what I meant to –"

You calmed yourself down enough to get a couple words out, yet your brain is either blank or buzzing so hard that you're mixing up sentences. You feel like you could cry. You finally manage to utter something that makes sense.

"Sorry."

"What for?"

She raises an eyebrow at you. Does Ymir not care? Really? That would be great, except you still have to explain yourself. Which is not so great. You know she probably is doing this on purpose. It's pretty obvious why you're sorry, after all.

"For invading your personal space. I've kind of always, sort of, okay – I've always wanted to do that."

You stutter a little bit on the sentence. This is embarrassing as it can get. The floor is so attractive right now – maybe if you stare at it long enough it will absorb you into it and you wouldn't have to deal with this. She's silent now and you dare not look at her face. You mumble another "sorry" before turn around and taking a step away. But you feel something grip your wrist in a rather tight hold. She's fast. You make a high pitched noise, pivoting yourself toward the direction of Ymir; the strength of the grip lessens.

"Don't."

...Don't? What does that even mean? You honestly don't know. Are you supposed to?

"Don't what, Ymir?"

"Don't go."

...

You don't know what to say. Does this mean that she doesn't care? You can't help but question what's going on here. What does someone do in a situation like this? Ymir lets go of your wrist, pulling her hand back half way to to her. A slight pause and then her hand is interwoven with yours. She's looking to her side – but you can see the slight touch of red on her face. This feels nice. In fact, it feels great; it's like her hands were made to fit yours. Or at least you would like to think. So she does feel the same as you. You want to run – jump – elation is overcoming you. Feeling the weight roll off your shoulders, you continue to look at her. You're happy, but what next?

Maybe you should have some courage; try something bolder.

You unlace your fingers from hers reluctantly. This is your chance, Christa. She's not paying attention to you, she's off in her own world. Her mouth is tugging at its fringes – a frown but no other sign of an expression on her face. Come on. You can do this. You held her hand just like you wanted. All you have to do is place her palm in yours again. Sitting down next to her, the bed sinking under you to hold both of your weights, you grab her fingers with yours, putting them together once more. It's hot, calloused, and rough. You don't mind. It's soothing to feel hers again. Ymir turns her head to you. Your thumb rubs the backside of her hand at the same time. It's not really a conscious move. It's just something you do. A smile comes so easily now to you now. Your heart is racing – don't think anymore. Simply do. Taking both of your hands and putting it on your leg, you put your head against her shoulder. To your surprise, she lays her head against yours.

Content.

You haven't felt this content in who knows how long. It's silent; yet, it's that comfortable silence that you two have after a conversation, silly or serious. Something you want to do, though. There's something you want to try – you have never done it before. You can't think of a better person to do it with. You take your head off of Ymir's, taking your time to do so. You miss the heat already. You still have her hand. Yet, this is more important, in your opinion; You position your body towards her. This is it.

"Ymir?"

"Hmm?"

A tiny gulp, barely audible. You don't realize it until you're already doing it, but you're biting your lip while you stare at hers. You want to. You want to so bad it hurts.

"Can we...?"

Ymir's features change for a split second – primal, almost. Slowly, nervously, she leans in; is there trepidation? You don't know. She speaks in a whisper.

"Can we?"

Your eyes shut before hers. You can hardly tell when her lips touch yours. You do feel them, however. You respond immediately, pushing back tenderly; you're not sure how hard you should push. Stop thinking, Christa – oh my, that was a moan. You don't usually say the Lord's name in vain, but dear _lord_ that was a moan. Instinctively, you push into her; that's something you should listen to. Your instincts. Sucking on her bottom lip, you also tighten your hand in hers. You take your other one off the bed and onto her thigh. It's not meant to be sexual. It's there to keep your balance because you're becoming dizzy on this high. Something is tugging at your stomach, downward. It feels awkward in the best way possible.

Running your tongue along her bottom lip, she opens her mouth and makes another noise – more muffled by your mouth this time. You want more. More of her. You release her hand and place it in her hair. You have yet to see her with her hair down; it would be nice to see when you stop kissing her – that's a secondary thought, really. Right now you just want something to hold on to. Her pony tail is in the way of that. You tug the band down and out as fast, and as gently, as possible while you stroke her tongue with yours. Your cheek is being cupped by her, and Ymir's other hand is on the side of your neck. She's angled perfectly. You don't know how long you're supposed to use your tongue, so you delve back into close mouthed kissing for a while. When she asks for entry herself, however, you grant it easily.

"Mmm," you hum. This is so pleasurable. She's teasing you with her tongue, making you chase after it.

Just how you like it.

After a moment or two of this, Ymir tries something different on you. Her tongue moves up, toward the roof of her mouth, and the tip touches it. Then she starts doing some kind of shape. You can't really tell what it is. Whatever it is, it feels funny.

Really funny.

That tickles – a lot.

You can't help but make a noise. You're trying so hard not to laugh. Another noise. It's not working at all – you have to pull back. And you do, taking your hands with you. You're giggling for what feels like a few seconds, but it's probably a minute or so. Ymir is pouting. You didn't know she could actually do that.

"It tickled." you offer as an explanation.

"Mmhm."

"This is the first time I've seen you pout, you know."

"I am not."

You grin.

"Are too."

She sighs, falling backward to lay on her back. Even after a kiss like that, you're not sure if she wants to cuddle like you do. Nothing to do but find out. The bed protests the movement, yet you climb up next to her without caring. You can't help but smile at her. You wrap your arms around Ymir's arm – the one closest to you. You tilt your head so it's on her shoulder, and she automatically places her head on yours.

To say the truth, Ymir, though sincere, has a dark personality. There's a light in her that you see, though. It's surrounded by the dark of night, however, you can tell there's a sun in her, somewhere. You have glimpsed it before. She's always there to help you; she's always going to be there. It's the light in her that no one else can see – it's yours alone. You want other people to see it too. She can always make your day brighter, why not everyone else's? Together, you and she will make this world a better place, be it as soldiers, as friends, as something, maybe, more. You don't know where this is going. You just want to see it through. And you will. Suddenly, Ymir kisses the top of your head. She snickers. You pick your head up, wondering what she's snickering for.

"What was that for?" you ask.

"You really want to know?"

You nod.

"Christa."

"Yes...?"

"You really are a Goddess."


End file.
